


Unjust

by VirusInTheCity



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Depression, School, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirusInTheCity/pseuds/VirusInTheCity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When thrust into a home where he isn't loved, his only escape is school.  The problem is, school isn't any better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unjust

Everything around me was calm.  There were no visible signs of the chaos lurking just beneath the surface; just about to bubble over.  Someone really ought to have kept a closer eye on me; if they cared enough to look, the signs were all there.  School was a joke.  All the teachers dragged their feet through the doors, hating the building as much as we did.  Everyone was always late.  The principal pretended like she cared; she came to work on time, and she wore a smile as she walked around the halls.  Those were the times when she left her office.  Clearly she found the solitude there much more enjoyable than the cacophony of noise and miscreants generously given the term ‘students.’  I don’t count myself among the unruly majority.  A handful of students, along with myself, are what the school affectionately dubs ‘the quiet ones.’  It’s not necessarily a bad group to associate with, the problem arises though in the fact that we don’t associate.

                If Nancy, my mother, had enough time to look, she would have been worried at my lack of friends.  She would have told me to go out more, to spend more time out of my room, and off of my computer.  She didn’t.  Nancy, worked overnights as a nurse and was far too tired when she got home to check to make sure I went to school.  I always did, simply because I didn’t want to hear her cry in her sleep.  Nancy had been abused as a child, and still has nightmares about it almost daily.  I think it might have gotten better, but her ex-husband, my father, would beat her when the mood struck him.  It happened decently often, therefore the nightmares continue.  They got divorced before I got any siblings.  They say only children are more likely to become depressed.

                Given the fact that my father, Sid, was prone to abusing his loved ones I did not opt to live with him once the divorce went through.  I figured that staying with Nancy would be preferable; I’d get the house to myself at night, and I could escape to school before she came home.  When I got back, she would be awake and making dinner.  The only problem was that school wasn’t an escape.  I left my mom’s nightmares behind only to be assaulted with my own waking nightmare.  My classes were lackluster and the teachers don’t care, so I sat in the back with the smokers and tried to read.  I wasn’t usually very successful because everyone kept talking, all the time.  ‘Whose baby is it?’  ‘I’mma kill him!’  ‘Can you believe what Miley Cyrus did to her hair?’  A room filled with irrelevancies spewing irrelevant words.

                About a week ago I made the decision to end my life.  Nancy had a gun; I’m not sure why she hadn’t used it before I did.  Were I in her shoes, I would have ended it before I was even born.  Nancy thought she was being clever by not telling me that she owned a firearm, but trying to hide a gun in the vase at the landing of the stairs wasn’t the smartest plan.  I suppose I shouldn’t have expected too much from her; she had a hard life.  I set the day, I picked Friday.  I wanted to ruin everyone’s weekend.  Selfish of me, I know; I wasn’t partial to caring anymore.  When Friday came, I snaked my hand into the vase and pulled out a handgun.  I put it in my bag, I wasn’t going to wear the trench coat, I wasn’t going to wear the sunglasses, and I wasn’t going to stick a loaded gun into my pants.

                That day, I waited for Nancy to come home; I wanted her to be first.  I hid in my room until I heard her walk through the house and get ready for bed.  When she was settled I crept into her room and saw her sleeping; I’d say peacefully, but I’d be lying.  Retrospect told me that I should have either taken the gun out of my bag before I got into her room, or waited to put it in there at all.  I had to be quiet or else she would wake.  Nancy is a light sleeper, but she didn’t stir by the time I took off the safety and aimed the muzzle at her.  I had never fired a gun before that point, and I hoped I wouldn’t miss.  I took a deep breath and shot my mother in her bed.  It was loud, and messy, and painful.  It didn’t look at all like the movies make it out to be.  I shot her in the chest because I didn’t think I could hit her head, but when the gun went off the force was trying to rip it from my hands.

                She would finally sleep in peace.  I didn’t want to dally, I had other things to attend to; all of them being at my school.  I walked as quickly as I could without running.  The last thing I needed was to be stopped by a policeman.  I trekked the two miles to school without incident; I had to sign in because I was late.  I considered starting in the office, but they shouldn’t be blamed for the misbehavior of their students.  If anything, the parents are to blame.  After sorting out why I was late, I walked to my classroom, with the slow steps that can be only brought on by finality.  I opened the door to my class and went to put my note of the vacant teacher’s desk.  She was at the front of the room, droning on about God knows what, and I dropped my bag.  I stooped to pull the zippers open and remove the weapon I brought.  No one even noticed.

                It was a handgun, and I had already taken one shot.  I only had twenty-three shots, and I knew that not all of them would make it.  I fired off each round, aiming at everyone and no-one.  I was aiming for the noise, the unrest, and the mockery that the school had become.  I dropped the gun when I heard the tell-tale click.  I waited there; waited at my seat in the back of the class.  I waited for the police to show up, to take me away for the injustice and the horrible act that I did.  I wouldn’t deny it, and I wouldn’t make some grand speech or message out of it.  That was how I chose to end my life.


End file.
